Man, that's sad

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It seems it doesn't work

The girls don't perk

The perverts lurk

It's not quite fair

Her beautiful hair

The clothes she wears

And when it tares

Through open lairs

Her gentle pairs

I see, though, in white snow

The bleeding heart below

Whoa Whoa Whoa

And within this agony

My own, her own, the bone

I am glad to see I am not the only one

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